


Unexpected

by snowdarkred



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Timey-Wimey, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdarkred/pseuds/snowdarkred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Daryl Dixon,” the Doctor repeats. He likes it. It’s unusual. “Well, Daryl Dixon, you appear to have been in the wrong place at the right time — or would it be the wrong time at the right place? Two wrongs? Would two wrongs, in this case, make a right?” The Doctor shakes his head. “Anyway, you were here instead of out there, which means that you are now the only human in the world that remembers what didn’t happen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

It’s not like the Doctor  _planned_  to bring anyone along. Unwind all of space and time and then rewrite it so that the zombie apocalypse doesn’t happen; theoretically, no one ought to remember it ever happened. Didn’t happen. Timey-wimey.

However, once the Doctor is done being supremely clever, he hears a small scuffle behind him. He turns to find one of the zombie survivors, a scruffy young man wearing a denim shirt with the sleeves ripped off, pointing a crossbow at his head.

“Hey now,” the Doctor says mildly. “None of that. I just saved the world.”

“Who the fuck’re you?” the young man demands. Ah, American. Southern, to be exact. Lovely part of the country, very quaint. Must be a local.

“I’m the Doctor,” he says, perking up brightly. Well, he hadn’t planned on keeping anyone around or letting them remember, but while he has an audience, he might as well take advantage of it. “I just saved the world!” he repeats. He waits expectingly. 

“Ya said that,” the young man says suspiciously. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit!” the Doctor exclaimed indignantly. “Look outside! No zombie apocalypse, no end of the world, and all before tea! I am  _good_!”

The young man narrows his eyes and then sidles to the left, keeping the Doctor in sight as he maneuvers himself closer to the window. A bird flies past, chirping cheerful. A couple with a stroller meanders along the sidewalk, laughing and alive.

“Holy shit,” he says. He lowers his crossbow and stares, entranced, at the transformed scene below them. The trees are back where they ought to be, the people are breathing and uninfected, and the dead are staying dead. “This ain’t some kinda trick?”

“No trick!” the Doctor exclaims. He grins broadly and runs his fingers through his hair. “Just pure Time Lord genius. Now, tell me, who are you?”

“Daryl Dixon,” the young man says absently. He’s turned away from the Doctor now, just staring out at the world like he’s never seen it before. Well, fighting off actual flesh eating zombies for months and then having everything revert to normal would be rather disconcerting for a human, the Doctor supposes. He’ll get over it. Humans are a flexible lot.

“Daryl Dixon,” the Doctor repeats. He likes it. It’s unusual. “Well, Daryl Dixon, you appear to have been in the wrong place at the right time — or would it be the wrong time at the right place? Two wrongs? Would two wrongs, in this case, make a right?” The Doctor shakes his head. “Anyway, you were here instead of out there, which means that you are now the only human in the world that remembers what didn’t happen.”

“Huh?” Daryl says, whirling around. He has his finger on the crossbow’s trigger again. “What the fuck’re you on about?”

“To everyone out there,” the Doctor points, “nothing ever happened. Life went on as normal: Babies were born, people died, couples got married, divorced, separated. Human beings muddled along as usual, none the wiser about their own extinction.”

Daryl does’t look like he quite believes him. He’s covered in grime and blood and zombie guts, coated in exhaustion and grief. “So it never happened?” he asks. Outside, a child shrieks in happiness as she chases a ball. “…Is Sophia alive?”

“It never happened,” the Doctor repeats. “Everyone who is supposed to be is alive, and the dead are going to stay as dead as they ought to be.”

“This ain’t a trick,” Daryl mutters to himself, turning back to the window. He’s apparently decided that the Doctor is mostly harmless, even though the crossbow is still aimed vaguely in his direction. There’s no doubt that if he makes a threatening move, he’ll wind up with an arrow in his eye. Unpleasant, that. 

“Now, since there’s another you wandering about, you can’t really go back,” the Doctor says, clapping his hands together. “How would you like to travel with me? I might be able to use a man who survived the end of the world.”

“There’s another me out there?” the man demands, switching back to threat assessing mode. He raises his crossbow. The Doctor wonders if it’s like his teddy bear, a source of comfort. Probably. 

“Yep! After all, you were in the wrong place at the right time. The right place at the wrong time. Eh. There’s a you out there who doesn’t even remember all this.” The Doctor waves his hands, indicating the torn apart room and blood smeared on the walls. “This room was like a bubble in time; it’s outside of everything. I’ll have to blow it up when we leave.”

“And if I don’ wanna travel with you?” Daryl asks, his eyes sharp and threatening. 

“Then I’ll just have to drop you off somewhere where you won’t ever run into yourself,” the Doctor says. “Like two thousand years in future, for example.”

“What  _are_  you?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” the Doctor smirks. “I’m a Time Lord.”


End file.
